DOCTORS OF DOG LAND
by A. Griffin / Super Train Station H
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Once upon a time, in a country far away, lived a society of canines that walked on only two legs. They wore shirts, and also pants, and could hold things with their hands, and they ran a hospital whose science work was quite advanced. One patient they cared for, submitted by her parents, had symptoms most unusual, their cause far from apparent. When happy without fail rather than simply wag her tail, she weirded others out by doing strange things with her mouth, making expressions unacceptable, whose wrongness needn’t be mentioned, reacting to being glad by making a face that threatened - with twisted corners of the mouth, demanding bad attention. For a dog to show their teeth, threatens a bite to all who see - that a happy pup would act like that was strange, and near obscene. There were other factors too, filling the folder of her case - as stimuli of normal life caused vividly painful headaches. Senses smashed by overwhelming force, over-loads would occur, bending sight and sound, into phantasmagoric blur. She'd also stare at certain plants, then strangely say, they were pretty, so came batteries of fancy tests to diagnose her quickly. The doctors sat down grimly with her father and her mother, and explained that their dear little girl had visions plagued by "color". A study of her eyes determined over-active cones, making normal waves of light appear as strange and separate tones. Her enjoyment of these hues expunged alternative conclusions - this afflicted little girl was clearly suffering delusions. Arcs of broken light she said, bowed skyward after rain, illusions such as these signaled a misdeveloped brain. And for the chronic headaches there was nothing they could do, but they prescribed her medication so she'd see as others do. Isolated as she was she longed to be included - since strange things made her happy, it fit perfect to remove them. She called chromatic deviations wonderful, and nice to see, but disturbing thoughts like that could be suppressed with therapy. Patient complaints of her new vision, were really nothing worth a listen - professionals were sparing her the pain of seeing different. It would be cruel not to address her habit with her mouth - that teeth-exposing tick, when happy, needed wringing out. Just how to come about a cure, posed somewhat of a puzzle, until a genius doctor strapped the girl up in a muzzle. Its calibrated sensors administered electric shocks, that provided helpful feedback, each and every time she talked - and also if she regressed, by wasting time staring at flowers, there was no doubt she could be fixed, with scientific power. There was word that special glasses, might be all that it would take, to lessen certain bands of light that triggered her headaches, but that would signal "strange condition" and cause outsider suspicion - and making her look normal was the object of the mission. There were extremists out there who claimed the "color" thing was cool, though those mutts lacked PhDs and couldn't change the rules. And if some had become doctors, and spectromatic sight they had, that disqualifying trait signaled they needed to be banned. The goal was not to understand and lend a helping hand - enforcing homogeneity was normalcy's demand. Oh if struggle could be softened, without persecuting patients - but thinking so inventive, was the future's innovation. So within the narrow focus of the logic then at hand, they heeled unto textbook commands, for treatment plans in Dog Land.
If you liked this poem, you might like my work-in-progress YouTube video series Barrier Aggression, in which I provide detailed commentary on a few non-disabled disability gatekeepers who have put themselves in charge of an "autism advocacy" nonprofit.
(this isn't a criticism of science/medicine helping disabled people, its a criticism of science/medicine "treating" characteristics that are only problems in the context of them not being seen as "normal" by typical people)
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